


Catbread Paradigms

by der_tanzer



Series: Catbread [19]
Category: Riptide (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-20
Updated: 2010-05-20
Packaged: 2017-10-09 15:05:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/88694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/der_tanzer/pseuds/der_tanzer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It was a risk from the start, we both knew that. Did you really think it was you that I was risking?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catbread Paradigms

"You got that all right, Cody?"

"Yeah, Nick, I've got it. It's _my_ boat, remember? And it's not like my legs are broken."

But Nick kept hold of him as he stepped onto the deck, and Cody never exactly told him not to, in so many words.

"Okay, babe?" he said nervously as Cody looked around. "Here, let me get the door. You need to get inside and lie down."

"Just a second, Nick. Let me smell the ocean."

"Cody, all you can smell out here is the fish processing plant up the street. And you can smell that inside, too."

"I can smell the water. I missed it, Nick. Almost as much as I missed you."

"Just almost? You can't decide if you want to go for a swim or go to bed with me, can you?"

"No, that one's easy. I want to go to bed." He leaned more into Nick's supporting arm and they went inside.

It was Monday, just two days since Cody was shot. It was just two nights that they'd slept apart, separated by a few inches of floor space and a bottomless cavern of fear. But he felt like he'd been away forever, and coming home was a miracle. Not that he'd tell Nick that, of course. Nick looked like he'd been through a worse hell than Cody's, and wasn't likely to want to see a miracle in it yet. He just let Nick walk him down to their cabin and put him to bed. And when Nick undressed and got in beside him, Cody knew he understood.

***

Quinlan went to work that morning as if nothing had happened, leaving Murray to his programming and plans to visit his friends a little later in the day. He wasn't needed at the hospital, and he didn't want to intrude too early, in case Cody was receiving a proper welcome home from Nick. It made him a little sad to have excluded himself from their intimate home life, but things changed and Murray was doing his best to accept that.

And the work, the isolation, made it easier somehow to not think about the weekend. He'd been up and down all day Sunday and Quinlan humored him in ways Murray had never been taught to expect. They baked cookies together and talked endlessly, not just about the shooting, but about everything that crossed Murray's mind. He cried at times with horror and misplaced anger, but by the end of the day, he was pulling it together and when they made love that night, it was just what he needed.

He went over at eleven with a bowl of his special macaroni salad and some of the cookies they'd made. But while they were happy to see him, and he enjoyed having lunch with them, they were all tired and he didn't stay long. Cody needed to rest, and Murray had work to do. He was designing a new program to run high level statistics, hoping it would help him predict the results of the football games Quinlan liked to bet on. There was much to be learned from such a formula, and if he could find it, it would have a lot of useful applications.

Absorbed in his work, he didn't notice the time when he heard Quinlan come home. Murray just assumed that if he was home, it was time for him to be, and he should have started supper already. Well, there was some macaroni salad left, and he could make hamburgers again. He saved his work, turned the monitors off to protect the screens, and went to say hello.

"Hey, Lieutenant," he said cheerfully, stepping out of his office. Then he actually saw the other man, still standing by the front door, his jacket hanging forgotten from one hand. Quinlan's face was bloody, his left eye swelled shut, and the knuckles of his right hand split wide open. When he lifted it to hang up his jacket, fresh drops of blood fell on the old carpet.

"Ted, what happened," he cried, unable at first to move.

"Rough day at work," Quinlan said. "I'm gonna go clean up. Be a good kid and fix me an ice pack, will you? And a stiff drink. Do we have any of that Glenfiddich left?"

"Yes, I—I think so. I'll look. Are you all right?"

"I will be after I get that drink." He went into the bathroom, and Murray heard the water running while he put ice and water in the insulated bag, then filled a tall glass a third of the way with Scotch. He poured a small shot in another glass for himself and swallowed it down, suspecting he might need it for this story, then took the ice bag and Quinlan's drink to the bathroom. The water had gone off, and Ted was in the process of wrapping his hand with gauze.

"Thanks," he said shortly, pausing in the bandaging to down half his Scotch. Murray stepped in and took over the gauze, binding the split knuckles with infinite care.

"Are you going to tell me about it? Who were you fighting with?"

"Sergeant Fry," Quinlan said dully and finished his drink. "You about done? I want to sit down."

"All finished." Murray taped down the gauze and took the glass away so Quinlan could hold the ice to his face. They stopped in the kitchen for a refill, and Murray took a sip of Quinlan's this time instead of pouring his own. He carried the glass into the front room and watched the careful way Quinlan eased himself down onto the sofa. It wasn't just his hand and eye, then.

"You were fighting with one of the officers?"

"Captain Lang's got me on a desk while they finish up the investigation. There were a lot of—comments—going around the station."

"About us?"

"Yeah. I never thought I'd see the day when my own men, officers of the law, would start acting like a bunch of junior high nitwits. Goddamned empty-headed gay bashing shitbags. Stupidest fucking bullshit I ever heard in that place, and it didn't have one damn thing to do with the case, or with _anything_ that concerned them."

"I told you to lie," Murray said softly. "I—I should never have moved in here."

"And that's the stupidest bullshit I've ever heard in _this_ place. You think you aren't worth a black eye or two?"

"We could have kept things the way they were. Been more subtle."

"No point in it, kid. Everyone knew months ago. We'd still be in this mess together, we'd just have spent a lot more nights alone first."

"Not if you'd used the Mexican wife story like I told you to," Murray said, but he was joking. "So Sergeant Fry said something you couldn't take and you hit him?"

"Uh-huh. He hit me back and I kicked his candy ass down two floors."

"So they sent you home early?"

"I quit," he said flatly, and Murray thought it was a joke to pay him back for the wife comment.

"No, really. What happened?"

"I told you, I quit." He took another drink and passed the glass to Murray, who looked like he needed it. Murray sipped it shakily and handed it back.

"You—you just—_quit_? Just like _that_? After everything you've gone through, you just gave it up?"

"Calm down, kid. I didn't do all that for them, and you know it. Everything I did, I did because it was the right thing to do."

"And backing down is right? Jesus, Ted, you said they wouldn't hurt you. You looked me right in the eye and said no one ever stopped you having what you want, and a day later you're folding like an origami crane. And now it's my fault. You've given up everything you care about and it's all my fault. How long is it going to be before you're thinking about _that_ all the time?"

"Hey, slow down, kid. You're all over the map here," he said, wondering why they were talking about origami all of a sudden.

"Stop telling me what to do! You said it wouldn't cost your career and then you quit on your _first_ day back! What am I misunderstanding here? And you can't say you won't resent me, because if you even _think_ that, you're kidding yourself. Being a cop was everything to you."

"No, it wasn't," he snapped. "It was a _job_. _That's_ what I remember telling you."

"It's a job you _love_. How could you _quit_?" Then his eyes went back to Quinlan's bruised face. "What did Fry say to you? Did he threaten you?"

"No. Look, it doesn't matter, kid. It happened, it's over, I'm moving on."

"To what? What are you even going to do now? How can you be happy without a job?"

"I'll get another job."

"And another pension? You're going to work another thirty years before you retire? Ted, you _quit_. You gave up _everything_. You couldn't even make them fire you for being gay. How—how could you be so _stupid_?" Murray stood up and turned his back, not ashamed yet of his words, but fighting not to say more.

"You're not even gonna let me explain?"

"Explain? You told me _what_ you did, and said that _why_ was none of my business. That's all the explanation I ever get, so why change now?"

"Kid, listen to me."

"Stop calling me that! I'm not a _child_!"

"Murray, calm down," he said, pained.

"Stop telling me what to do!" Murray shouted, finally turning back to him. "You do whatever the hell you want, why shouldn't I?"

"And this is what you want to do? Stand there and yell at me?"

"No, it isn't. What I really want to do is leave." He crossed the room on unsteady legs and stormed out the front door. Quinlan sat for a moment in stunned silence, unable to comprehend what had happened. By the time he realized he needed to get up and go after him, Murray had turned a corner and was out of sight.

Walking away from the house, Murray's steps led him unthinkingly toward the pier. He could tell Nick and Cody about this, pour out the rest of his anger harmlessly, and get their advice before he went home and apologized. Not that he knew what he'd be apologizing for, exactly, _except calling him stupid; how could I say that?_ he thought, already cringing. But he must be at least partly wrong, because Ted was always at least partly right.

Then he thought of something that froze him in place and left him feeling completely helpless.

_Nick and Cody don't really like him. They've been waiting for me to give up and come home since I left. They'll laugh and say they told me so. Everyone will laugh and the gossip will get worse. We can fix it, but only if no one finds out._

With that logic, he turned around and started uptown. It was a good time of day for the dog park. He had a lot of friends over there; friends who always tried to make him feel better but never asked what was wrong.

***

Quinlan had never been the most adept at following Murray's twists and turns of logic, so when he set out in search of his lover, he went straight to the pier. He'd had a little too much to drink, so he walked over, hoping to spot Murray along the way. But the kid was nowhere in sight and he got all the way to the boat almost before he knew it.

"Hey, isn't that Ted?" Cody asked, pointing up the gangway with his good arm. "Are we expecting them tonight?"

"Not that I know of. But where's Murray? It looks like he's alone."

"Yeah, I don't see him." Cody started to rise and Nick held him back.

"Don't strain yourself. He's coming this way; let's just wait," Nick said, but his voice was trembling. His resolve wasn't much stronger, and he got up and met Quinlan at the railing.

"What the hell happened to you, LT?" he asked, taking in the black eye and bandaged hand. "Where's Murray? Is he okay?"

"I hope so," he said, puzzled.

"What does that mean? Where is he? What happened?"

"Calm down, Ryder, I'm lost. Isn't he here?"

"What?" Nick asked, his fourth _what_ in fifteen seconds.

"Hang on. Can I come aboard before we start this farce up again?"

"Oh. Yeah, sure." He backed up and Quinlan stepped over the rail, going to the fantail where Cody sat expectantly in his deck chair, shirtless in bandages and sling.

"Hey, Ted," Cody said, sounding as worried as Nick. "What's up?"

"I was looking for Murray. We—oh, hell—we had a fight and he walked out. I thought he must've come down here. You haven't seen him?"

"No," Nick said and Cody shook his head in confirmation.

"Well, shit. I was so sure he'd be here—what the hell could have happened to him?"

"There are a lot of places he might go," Cody said. "There's a park not far from your house, and the library."

"Yeah, or that electronics store where his computer friends hang out," Nick added.

"Damn. I hope he's not—I guess I ought to go look for him."

"Look, LT, I know how you feel," Nick said. "Believe me, I do. But he's an adult and he's lived here long enough to know his way around. He's fine, and when he's ready, he'll go home."

"I know that, I just don't want him—I don't know—talking to people. About us."

"He won't," Cody said. "Why don't you sit down and have a beer?"

"And what? Talk to you?" His fierce pride was already wounded by the admissions thus far. He wasn't at all prepared for more.

"Yeah, why not?" Cody tossed him a can of beer and he opened it without thinking. "You're among friends, Ted. And if you're fighting with Boz, maybe we can help. God knows, we've had our share of fights with him over the years."

"It's not exactly a fight."

"Yeah?" Nick asked, cocking his eyebrow. "Is that where you got the black eye?"

"From Murray? No. That happened at work. That's what we were talking about when he left."

"Oh," Cody said knowingly. "In that case, you'd better sit down."

"What is this, therapy?"

"No, Ted, it's talking to your friends about what's going on in your life. Like what happened at work, and if you're okay."

Quinlan sat down on the bench and held the beer can between his knees.

"I'm okay," he said after a minute. "My hand's killing me, but it doesn't matter."

"No?" Nick asked, sinking back into his chair between Cody and the bench. "Were you punching out a perp?"

"I wish. One of the sergeants said some shit he shouldn't have."

"About Murray?"

"Yeah. I really thought it wasn't going to happen like that. I figured they'd have their laughs behind my back, at least. But somewhere between the first floor and the lobby, while I was beating the hell out of that guy, I realized I was wrong. Cops gotta work together, and if they're taking sides around me, that's not gonna happen."

"So what did you do?" Cody asked

"I finished kicking his ass and then I resigned. I thought Murray would be happy; he's been so worried about all of it…" Quinlan paused and stared at the water for a while, sipping his beer. "But when I told him, he got mad. I think he thinks we should have talked it over first or something, like it would have made a difference."

"That's what he's mad about? That you resigned without talking to him?"

"How the fuck do I know? That's what he _said_, but who knows? It doesn't make any sense to me."

"I doubt if that's the whole story," Nick said.

"It is so far as I know."

"Yeah, but Murray's got something else on his mind. You can count on that. You're going to have to talk to him," Cody said wisely.

"That's what I was trying to do when he blew up."

"_Murray_ blew up?" Nick repeated, making sure he understood.

"Yeah. He was yelling and I thought he was gonna—well, never mind. Then he walked out. I figured he was coming here to tell you about it."

"No, he wouldn't do that," Cody said, shaking his head. "He's never said anything to us that you wouldn't want your lawyer to tell St. Peter on your behalf."

"Great. So if I hadn't just spilled the whole story myself, you never would have known."

"That's right, LT. Drink up and I'll get you another beer. You're officially a member of the Society of Men Who've Been Outsmarted by Murray."

"I think I've been in that club for a while now, but I'll take a beer anyway."

"It's not official until it's public, Ted." Cody raised his can in salute and Quinlan smiled ironically as he raised his in return.

"So what do I do now?"

"Hang out here until he comes looking for you. He will, as soon as he calms down. Murray never stays mad for long."

"Yeah, and then what? He stops being mad and we forget the whole thing?"

"No, you talk about it," Nick said. "Find out what he was mad about, and either fix it or reassure him that it doesn't need fixing. You've done that before, right?"

"Sure, but it's always just been his problem. Even the shooting was just about him. This is the first time I know of that his problem was—me."

"Wow, it took you over a year to piss him off? I don't think anyone even had that in the pool," Nick laughed.

"Well, no. There were times when I was hiding out that we argued about it a little, but that was different. He didn't like it, but he understood. Whatever he's pissed about now is something he doesn't understand. He wasn't even articulate about it."

Nick and Cody looked at each other, thinking about the things that made Murray inarticulate. It was a long and varied list.

"I ought to go home and wait for him," Quinlan said suddenly.

"Why don't you just wait here? If he goes home and you're not there, he'll come here next," Cody said.

"So why not catch him there and save him the walk?"

"Because if you're alone, he might keep fighting. If you're here, he'll talk. Which one do you want?"

Quinlan looked Cody in the eye for a moment and nodded. If he fucked this up, everything else would be wasted. He would have to take what help he could get.

He'd been there about an hour when Murray showed up, tired and sweaty and smelling vaguely of dog. A German Shepherd and a Golden Retriever had collided with him and each other during a spirited game of Frisbee, and it was about that time that he decided to go. By then, he was calm enough to not talk about the argument, but not quite ready to go home, so he went down to the pier to have a drink with his friends first. He had no idea that Quinlan would be there, and was suddenly embarrassed and shy.

"Murray," Quinlan said quietly. "I was looking for you."

"I went to the dog park. One of the ladies let me play Frisbee with her dog."

"Good. You feeling any better? Ready to talk, maybe?"

"I don't know. I guess." He looked around hesitantly, from one face to another, and then out over the pier as if to make sure no one was watching. When he was satisfied, he sat beside Quinlan and accepted a beer from the cooler by Nick's feet.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you," he said quietly. "And I think I called you stupid. I didn't mean to say that."

"I know you didn't, ki—Murray."

"And I'm sorry about that, too. You can call me whatever you want. I was totally out of line."

"Okay, you're sorry. But I already knew that. What I want to know is what set you off in the first place. Did you really want me to talk to you before I resigned? Would you have told me not to?"

"Maybe. But, Lieutenant, that's not the point. You said you wouldn't give up. You said no one ever took anything from you that you wanted. But you wanted to be a cop so badly that you kept doing it even when you were supposed to be dead. You came back from the dead to do it, and then you gave it all up without a fight, because of me. How am I supposed to live with that? How are _you_ supposed to live with _me_?"

"Kid, that's the part you're really not getting. I meant what I said, that I hold onto what I want. And what I want is you. Fighting to keep my job would cost way too much."

"You can't mean that."

"What, that I'd rather be with you than be a cop? Why's that so hard to believe? It was a risk from the start, we both knew that. Did you really think it was _you_ that I was risking?"

"I—I guess I did. You—you're Lieutenant Quinlan, it's your identity. What are you going to be if you're not a cop?"

"I don't know yet. I'm still a lieutenant in the Army Reserves, though, so I won't lose my title. Unless I get promoted. Then you can just call me Captain instead."

"So that's it? The sergeant says something you don't like and you quit and that's it?"

"Not entirely. There are some things I'd have told you if you'd hung around long enough."

Everyone perked up a little at that and Murray half turned on the bench to face him.

"Like what?"

"Like, I get to call it early retirement and keep my pension in exchange for not suing them. The bosses don't want to take the heat for this so soon after my return from the dead. I'm still a hero around here, you know. There's going to be a severance package, too. Some cash up front, my health insurance, that kind of thing. It's not so bad, is what I was trying to say. I fucked up Sergeant Fry badly enough that no one else would have bothered me, but this is better. I get to get out. No more getting shot at, no having to worry about what the other cops are thinking, and if can count on them when the chips are down. It's a chance to do something else. I didn't think I'd need to talk to you first because it's what you wanted. Isn't it?"

"Yeah, it is. I just didn't know it was what _you_ wanted. What are you going to do next?"

"That's the part we get to talk about. I always wanted to have my own business, but I never really thought much about what kind. This would be a good time to look around and see what's offering. Maybe there's something we could do together."

"Really?" Murray said, his face brightening like a child's on Christmas morning. "You—you want to work with _me_?"

"Sure, I want to work with you. I couldn't run a business without you. What the fuck do I know about inventory and taxes and shit? And I doubt I'll miss being a cop. I was just getting old and bitter there. I knew it—I've known it for years—but it didn't matter. Old cops are supposed to be bitter assholes."

"So it was on purpose?" Nick laughed, tossing him another can when he saw him set the empty aside. "We always wondered about that."

"Fuck you, Ryder," he laughed back and popped the top. Murray was still drinking his first, and Quinlan drained his quickly and then took it away. "No more for you, kid. I don't want to walk you home drunk." Which meant, _I don't want you drunk tonight_.

"We were gonna have burgers and Murray's macaroni salad for supper," Nick said. "You guys ought to stay. Keep Cody company while I'm cooking."

"That's what we were going to have," Murray shrugged. "Is that okay with you, Ted?"

"Sure," he said and finished Murray's beer.

Nick got up and went below to start the burgers while Cody, lulled by painkillers mixed with a small amount of alcohol, dozed off in the evening sun. Murray watched him sleep, watched the water, and finally turned back to Quinlan.

"I never expected to find you here," he said softly.

"No? Where else do I have to go?"

"Well, I thought you were at home. But if I'd been looking, I'd have thought _The Lobster Pot_ or _Job's Turkey_."

"You wouldn't think I'd go to friends?"

"I didn't know you guys were that close. I guess I still think of Cody and Nick as _my_ friends."

"They are. They were worried about you. That's the only reason they wanted to talk to me."

"That isn't true. They like you a lot. I just didn't know you liked them back."

"I like anyone that loves you, I told you that."

Murray turned that over in his mind, trying to find a way out of being jealous. They were his friends and his insecurity insisted that if they became more Quinlan's, they would be less his. But that couldn't be right. They could see each other more, talk more freely, share more secrets. Only good could come of it, his logical mind insisted.

"You thinking your deep thinky thoughts again?" Quinlan asked suddenly.

"Yeah, I guess so. A lot's happened today. I'm still a little stuck on you giving an inch to that gay bashing sergeant."

"Kid, did I ever tell you where I got this scar?" he asked, touching his cheek lightly.

"No."

"I was in a bar in LA with a guy I knew. Someone I was just screwing around with on a part-time basis, you know, and we were out drinking. He was a good guy, but he got a little fruity when he was drunk, and he put his hand on my ass when he shouldn't have. Some big tough guys started giving us shit and we left. Just paid for our drinks and walked out. Did the safe thing, right?"

"That's what I would have done."

"Yeah, I know. I didn't want to fight, I didn't trust my friend to have my back, so we walked away. Those guys followed us out and attacked us in the parking lot. There was no one around, and one of them had a beer bottle and one had a knife. The one with the bottle broke it over my head and tried to take out my eye. The one with the knife killed my friend."

"No," Murray breathed, and Cody gave up the pretense of being asleep to listen openly.

"Yeah. Because we walked away. If we'd stayed inside, in the middle of the crowd, we might have gotten our asses kicked, but no one would have died. You think I walked away from my job like a coward, but I didn't. I made my point and I left on my own terms. I didn't give up anything I wanted to keep."

Murray moved closer and took his hand, holding it carefully on the seat between them, out of sight of casual observers.

"I—I don't know what to say. I'm so sorry, Lieutenant. Did you—love that other man?"

"Not like you're thinking. Not like I do you. But he was a good guy and I liked him. He was my friend."

"I'd kiss you right now if I could."

"So kiss me later. We have time."

"We should stay home for about a week and not do anything else," Murray said thoughtfully.

"Whatever you want, kid," he replied in that gruff and sarcastic way that was really anything but.

"You two are about the cutest thing since they legalized kittens," Cody said and laughed at their puzzled looks.

"When were kittens…?"

"Forget it, Murray. I was just joking."

"Oh. I thought you were asleep. You're supposed to be resting."

"I am resting. Listening to you guys mush all over each other is very relaxing."

"You go to hell, Allen."

"Hey, don't slop your mush on me, Ted. My man gets jealous," Cody grinned.

"That's enough," Murray said gently. "If you tease him too much, he'll want to go home and then I'll have to cook."

"All right, I'll try to resist. Murray, can you open me a beer? I'm still not too good with this hand."

"Are you sure it's okay, with your medication and everything?" he asked, already reaching for a can.

"I'm a big boy, Boz. I can handle one more."

"So," Cody said to Quinlan, "you really don't want to be a cop anymore?"

"I didn't say that. It's just not worth the hassle. I did my part, now I want to enjoy the rest of my life."

Murray blushed, smiling shyly in the light of Cody's knowing grin.

"So what do you think you might want to do instead? Have you considered security or maybe even getting a private detective's license?"

"I haven't thought about it at all. I guess I could help out once in a while, but you mouseketeers get shot at a little too much for my taste."

"Ted, I'm guessing this is a sore subject," Cody said cautiously, "but I can't help wondering what the guy said that's worth quitting over."

"I don't really want to get into it," Quinlan said, knowing it couldn't be dodged forever.

"You know, Lieutenant," Murray said with a sweet smile, "you're just going to end up telling me later, and then I'll tell them."

"You will, huh?"

"Unless you specifically tell me not to, and even then…"

"Yeah, I should've known. All right, you want the truth—he called me Queerlan. I haven't heard that since junior high and I didn't put up with it then, either. And he said some things about skinny asses and big hands, and what a shame it'd be if something happened to my little assassin when there weren't any cops around to help."

"Your assassin?" Murray repeated. "Who—?"

"You, genius. They're still looking at the possibility that I knew about the ransom and let you kill that guy to save on paperwork or some such thing."

"So what kind of threat was that?" Cody asked. "Was he saying something's going to happen to Boz, or just that no one would respond if it did?"

"I don't know. Maybe neither, maybe both. Point is, he might be serious. And I outrank him, so it's bad enough he said it, but he never should have hit me back. He's lucky I didn't kill him. But I don't know if just beating the hell of him is enough for me to hang onto my authority."

"So will it be different now?" Murray asked, staring at his hands. "Since you beat him up, that somehow means no one's going to hurt me? The cops are still going to be on our side?"

"I don't know. A lot of people sounded sincere when they said they were sorry I was leaving, and you've always been a popular guy. Hell, you're famous, even. So they have to know if they let anything happen to you, it's not just me they'd hear from. It'd be big news. They'd never be able to cover it up."

"That's reassuring," Murray sighed. "I'm glad they wouldn't get away with it."

"Nothing's gonna happen to you, kid. We're gonna stick together and look after each other. Nick and Cody do it, we can, too."

Murray blushed again and Cody had to smile. He'd never imagined being a relationship role model for Ted Quinlan.

***

The four of them ate supper down in the galley because Murray was feeling a little paranoid about being on the open deck as darkness fell. For the first time since he moved into Quinlan's house, he wished he was back on the boat. It felt like a good time to head out to sea and lay low for a while, but they'd lost that privilege now. And Quinlan would probably feel like they were running away. He might quit his job, but he wasn't leaving town for anyone.

Nick asked some questions about Quinlan's day, but he was done talking about it. Anything else they learned would have to come from Murray. Cody changed the subject to the potential client who had come by that morning, and Nick was led directly into an argument about whether Cody was well enough for the case. It was a simple surveillance job, watching a wrecking yard that had been robbed three times in the last month in spite of fences, alarms and dogs. Fences were scaled, alarms destroyed and dogs poisoned or shot, all for very minor thefts. Cody was convinced it was a good case and he could do his part from the car, but Nick wanted to wait at least a month, until he was up to full strength.

Murray listened to the argument and picked at his food until Quinlan was ready to go home. Nick offered them a ride and Murray wanted to accept, but Ted said they'd be fine walking. It was too dark for a casual observer to recognize them, and no one knew where they were to stage an ambush. Murray didn't know if he quite bought that logic, but they both had guns, in spite of Quinlan not technically having a permit to carry yet, and they would be on guard. He missed the days when walking around King Harbor at night felt safe.

"Something bothering you, kid?" Quinlan asked as they climbed the gangway.

"You know there is. I wish you'd let Nick drive us home."

"No reason to. No one's gonna mess with us tonight."

"You don't know that. You thought you'd be safe at work, too, and that didn't last a whole day."

"How long are you going to keep bringing that up?"

"At least until the day's over. Lieutenant, you said you wanted to get old with me. So why risk your life when you don't have to?"

"Kid, that's why I quit. And we're walking six blocks here. It's hardly a trek through the Amazon."

"But it's not as safe as driving. Can't we just do the safe thing for a few days, at least?"

"Sure, after this." He looked around in the darkness, taking in the few streetlights and the lack of pedestrians, and reached for Murray's hand.

"I guess dying together is almost as good as getting old," Murray sighed.

"No one's dying, kid. You'll just have to trust me."

"I want to, Ted. I really do. But you can't protect us from everything."

"Maybe not, but I can keep us alive. And I know you can back me in a fight."

"You do?"

"Sure. You got heart, kiddo. You never back down, and you throw a decent punch, even if you do break your thumb every time."

"How do you know I can throw a punch, Lieutenant?"

"You nailed me once, remember? I wouldn't listen to you about some case, and you popped me in the eye so I'd chase after you."

"Oh, yeah. I forgot about that. I—I'm sorry, Ted. If I'd had a choice…"

"Don't bullshit me, Bozinsky. You enjoyed it and you know it. I had it coming, too."

"Do you really think so?" he chuckled.

"Hell yes. I never listened to you. I was too busy staring at you and hoping you wouldn't notice."

"I thought you were staring because I was so funny looking."

"Nah. I was thinking about you sucking my dick most of the time."

"Oh. Well, that is more flattering, I suppose. Maybe I should do that when we get home."

"If you want to," Quinlan said and Murray could hear the smile in his voice.

"I kind of do. Or, you know, whatever you want."

"It can't always be up to me."

"Sure it can. I like when it's up to you. You do really great things for me, Lieutenant."

"It's so cute that you think it's for you."

Murray laughed again and squeezed his hand.

"Come on, let's walk a little faster."

"What, are you still scared?" Quinlan teased.

"No, I'm cold. And I want to go to bed. Get nice and warm and then let you get me hot. It's a lot better than walking around out here in the dark."

He let go of the slender hand and put his arm around Murray's waist, holding him close, warming him just a little. They got all the way home without anybody seeing them.

Inside, Quinlan locked the door and they moved through the house without turning on any lights. Murray knew the place well but he was still clumsy in the dark and let the lieutenant lead him by the hand. He loved being escorted to the bedroom, loved the forceful way Quinlan pushed him down on the bed and stripped his skinny body as if it were irresistible. No one had ever made him feel more attractive or more loved, and he was panting with desire as he pulled the heavier man down on top of himself.

"I love you so much," he whispered, wrapping his legs around the lean hips. He was answered not with words, but with the insistent nudge of Quinlan's cock against his soft belly. Murray held him close, moving languidly beneath him, shifting his body subtly for better contact. Their erections touched, rock hard and sticky-slick, and Quinlan gasped, pressing his forehead to Murray's shoulder, searching for control. Murray's heels digging into the backs of his thighs gave him something else to think about, but the leverage it provided brought them together harder, and the quick, sharp thrusts rapidly ate away his resolve.

"Kid, you better come fast," he moaned, biting Murray's chest.

"No," Murray gasped, his thin fingers digging into Quinlan's shoulders. "Make it last, Lieutenant, please. Keep me warm. Please—god—you're so warm." He was holding on so tightly that his recently healed arm began to ache, but it wasn't enough to make him ease off.

Quinlan dug a hand into Murray's hair and pulled his head back, kissing him roughly. His lips traveled down Murray's vulnerable throat, biting and bruising, fucking with and against him at an ever increasing pace. Murray might have wanted it to last, but that didn't stop him from matching the rhythm, bucking frantically as he cried out—curses and pleas and wordless sounds of need.

Even the hair pulling excited him, and Quinlan kept up the pressure as he sucked Murray's collarbones, thrilling to the moans vibrating in the slender throat. When the sound changed to a single long, keening note, Quinlan slipped his other hand between them and squeezed their cocks together. Murray broke then, shouting Ted's name, his sensibly short nails drawing blood from the broad shoulders. Quinlan lasted a moment longer, enjoying each pulse of his lover's climax before surrendering to his own.

Coming down, Quinlan tried to move to his own side of the bed, but Murray held on, turned over and moved with him.

"Are you okay, kid?"

"Don't leave me. Please, just hold me a little longer."

"I'm not leaving you," he murmured. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Just hold me, please."

"Okay, Murray. It's okay. I'm right here."

"Promise you won't resent me," he insisted. "Say it wasn't for me."

"What are you—? No, never mind. Just go to sleep, Murray. We'll talk about it tomorrow."

"I can't let you hate me."

"Kid, I won't ever hate you. No one could. Just go to sleep and have good dreams. Everything's okay," he said, rubbing Murray's sore arm without being asked.

"I'm going to have nightmares for sure," Murray sighed, but for once he was wrong. It was Quinlan whose dreams plagued him that night.


End file.
